When Things Don't Work, They Go To Boston
by invisalite
Summary: Sequel to Breakup. SLASH, MAJOR ANGST, and yeah. T for language. Don't like, don't read. I don't own anything but my storyline.


**A/N: Hey everyone! It's been a LONG time since I've written anything... DX-Dynamite noticed it and was able to demolish my writer's block with a sequel to When A Breakup Isn't A Breakup. So, thanks to her/him, I have new fics to feed you! Or... for you to read. Whichever one you want to do. x) If any of you have read rispacooper's The Best Policy on LJ, you will recognize a certain style that I really liked and injected into my own writing. Please make sure to review with your comments and criticism! Also, in reviews, please tell me if anyone gets the slight song reference I made in both the story and the title. Once you find it one place, it'll be easier to find it in the other.**

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The first thing that Shawn doesn't remember is how he got home from the bar last night. His body soon reminds him that large quantities of alcohol are not his friend. Running to the bathroom, he pukes into the toilet. Once the contents of his stomach are safely in the municipal sewer system, Shawn realizes he's alone. Not only physically alone, but just… He tears his mind away from the thought. Plastering on a fake smile, he struts out the door to his motorcycle.

"Maybe it'll get better," he thinks aloud. "Maybe, just maybe…"

w w w w w

He pulls into the Santa Barbara Police Department parking lot, spots Gus's signature little blue car and hops off. His happy façade has faded a little during the ride and as he saunters into the precinct (with just a little less swagger than usual), everyone notices. _Especially_ Lassiter. He looks at the fake psychic with worried blue eyes, but immediately turns away. Shawn stops in his tracks immediately, and bites his lip. The station hums with activity around him.

"Morning, Shawn!" Buzz chirps.

The tall, dopey cop fails to register that his favorite psychic is present this morning sans spunk.

"Morning, Buzz…" he sighs.

"Late night?"

"Something like that…"

"Shawn," Gus hisses, and pulls him away into a corner. "What's up?"

He shrugs nonchalantly.

"Nothing, buddy. Why?"

The pharmaceutical salesman fixes his best friend with an intense stare.

"Really, Shawn? Are we going to play this game right here, right now?"

Said best friend affixes his gaze to the ceiling.

"Gus, I just don't want to talk about it."

"…Fine. But you know that we're talking this out later, right?"

The pseudo psychic nods his head, and slinks off in the direction of the chief's office. Burton looks worriedly after him, deciding to follow about a couple seconds later.

w w w w w

"And so, since _you_," Chief Vick glares pointedly at Carlton, "have not picked up on the trail of the perpetrator, we're calling in outside help."

The head detective sighs a little bit, but straightens himself once he notices the outside help standing right next to him.

Shawn doesn't even look at him, but squirms a little bit and digs his right toe into the ground.

"So, Mr. Spencer, you are hired."

The younger man nods. Karen blinks a couple times.

"You're accepting this job with no fanfare?"

"Shawn's got himself tangled up with a… rather depressed spirit. Depressed by the robberies and stuff, and it keeps insisting on channeling itself through him," Gus manages to explain. He tries to ignore the little looks of doubt from Chief Vick and Lassiter.

Shawn slides out of the room quietly, and slinks towards the doorway.

"Shawn!"

He turns around to see Juliet walking towards him from across the precinct.

"No hello today?" she asks, winking.

The usually flirty man tries to smile a bit wider, but feels himself break down. He runs out of the precinct.

"Shawn! Shawn! Where are you going?" the junior detective asks, her voice full of worry. "Shawn!"

w w w w w

Shawn doesn't notice where he ends up running through the curtain of tears that blinds his eyes. By the time he finally realizes where he is, it's too late.

Lassiter's house.

Could this be any more of a horrible place to be? He thinks of how much of his soul is in this house. The plants, the peanut butter… His vision blurs over again but he can't bring himself to move. Biting his lip, he brings himself to sneak around back and break into Carlton's house.

Once inside, he curls up on the couch, inhaling the scent of Lassie and falls asleep.

w w w w w

The dying sunbeams of the evening along with the slam of the door wake Shawn from his slumber. He resists the urge to jerk upright, knowing that it'll scare Lassiter into shooting him. He intends to wait until Lassiter's in his room to make his escape. That is, before—

"Sha—Spencer? What are you doing here?"

Shit.

"Hey, Lassie," he mumbles, sitting up.

"What did I tell you about breaking into my house—sweet justice."

Shawn knows that Lassiter's pinching the bridge of his nose even without looking. He stands up and starts towards the door. But before he can crank the knob open, a hand stops him.

"Spen—Shawn."

The younger man doesn't reply, and only turns his head away from the head detective.

"Shawn, would you just listen to me?"

The fake psychic doesn't know what to do, to listen, or to run. He weighs his chances in a split second. He's had better luck with running, so that he does. The door flies open and he bolts down the steps. Lassiter just stares in confusion, and then realizes that his unwelcome visitor had left his jacket on the couch.

w w w w w

Lassiter inhales and exhales quickly a couple more times before raising his hand to knock at the door.

"Shawn?" he calls.

What answers him at the door is shocking. Shawn's hair is more disheveled than usual, and behind him, the apartment is a mess. Save the very overstuffed bag that was the temporary home of a pineapple.

Shawn squirms a little.

"What are you here for?"

The head detective stares a bit at the doorway before fixing Shawn's hazel eyes with his icy blue stare. He raises the psychic's jacket.

"You… left this at my house," he manages to say, staring at the ground. "…Can I come in?"

The younger man sighs deeply and turns around, walking deeper into the chaos. Lassiter takes that as a 'yes' and enters. He slides the door shut.

"Listen, Shawn—"

"I don't need to hear anything, Lassie. I already know it loud and clear. You don't want me."

"No, that's the furthest—"

"But it's true."

"No, Shawn, it isn't—"

"Which is why, to make you happier, I'm leaving."

Carlton's mouth drops.

"You're… leaving?"

Shawn whirls around.

"What's it to you?" he asks angrily. "You've never cared. Well, sure you have, but you haven't! All I have here is… is…"

An awkward silence envelops the room, before the pseudo psychic breaks it.

"All I had left here was you, Lassie. I took my chance on you, and now I have nothing. So, I'm off to lands unexplored. Maybe Boston. I heard it's nice in the summer, and I've never seen snow before."

Lassiter shuffles his feet before placing his hands on Shawn's shoulders.

"Listen. I wanted to tell you that running away isn't going to help anything. Santa Barbara needs you. The police need you. Everyone needs you."

Shawn pushes himself forward until he's flush with Lassiter's chest. He looks up into the head detective's eyes.

"Do you need me?"

The head detective responds slightly to the touch and the question with a blush. However, he's confused (and Shawn even more) when he pushes Shawn away and walks out the door.

"I'm sorry, I have to go."

Shawn keeps standing there until Lassiter's out of sight. Then, he collapses onto the ground.

w w w w w

The night finds Gus on his computer, looking through his bank account. He watches as suddenly $700 vanishes from his account.

"It's gotta be Shawn," he mutters as he pulls out his cell phone. "It's gotta be Shawn. And I'm gonna kill him!"

"Hello…?"

The vulnerability in Shawn's voice shocks Gus.

"Shawn? Shawn! Where are you? Do you have my card? And what did you buy for $700 this late at night?"

"Whoa, whoa buddy! Slow down! One thing at a time!" comes Shawn's chuckled response.

Gus hears sniffling, and he knows his friend is the farthest thing from fine.

"Answer me, Shawn!"

"Relax, Gus-Gus! I'm at the airport, I have your card, and I bought a ticket to Boston. Plane leaves in a couple hours."

Burton's eyes nearly bug out of his head.

"What?"

"Gus, there's nothing left for me to do in Santa Barbara—"

"What do you mean nothing left to do? You opened a detective agency, you've got somewhat good relations with your dad now, and you've got—"

"I've got nothing."

Gus feels his heart sink like a stone. He blinks back water from his eyes, and attempts to make his voice deep and gravely to cover any emotion up.

"Shawn, what happened?"

Silence, and then, "I told him how I felt. And of course, no reciprocation. So I went to a bar, boozed the crap outta myself, and then came in to work today. And then realized, why the heck am I hanging around here still? I've got nothing. Gus, I've got nothing."

"Shawn, you still have me. And your dad."

"Oh, Gus, Dad will never count. And yeah, I do have you. But you've survived me roaming the country before."

"That was before we had a psychic detective agency to run together, Shawn!" Gus cries. "Shawn, you can't leave me here again! I don't want to go to sleep every night not knowing how my best friend is!"

"I'll call. I'll write. I'll keep in touch."

"That's what you said last time!"

"Sorry Gus, gotta go through security. Bye."

"Wait, Shawn, you can't just—"

The last words are greeted by silence. Gus drops his phone onto the table, and buries his heads in his hands. The next thing he knows, he's dialing a number he never thought he would ever dial.

w w w w w

"Lassiter."

"Lassiter? Lassiter, it's me, Gus."

"Hello, Guster," the head detective replies, thoroughly perplexed. "Can I help you?"

"Oh my…"

There's silence and maybe some sniffling at the other end, but Lassiter can't tell what's going on.

"Yes, Guster?"

"What did Shawn say to you? Did you know that he's leaving?"

Carlton's shocked silence tells Gus, 'No I didn't know he was leaving as a matter of fact. Why do you ask?'

"I thought I talked him out of it," he finally manages to reply.

The pharmaceutical salesman sighs heavily.

"What did he say to you?"

Lassiter fidgets a little before telling Shawn's best friend.

"He asked me if I needed him."

"And what did you say?"

Lassiter stops midstride through his hallway at home. He's been pacing ever since the fiasco at Shawn's apartment. But for the past couple hours, that's all that has been on his mind. Shawn.

"Dammit, Lassiter, what did you say?"

"He pressed up really close to me and asked me and I pushed away and didn't say anything. I said that I needed to go, and I left."

Gus cursed. Audibly.

"Lassiter, do you know what this means? You've pretty much just sent him on his way to Boston! That's on the other side of the country! What the _hell_, Lassiter!"

Carlton is about to answer him when the phone line clicks. He looks down at his cell phone and sees that the pharmaceutical salesman has hung up.

"Shit," he mutters, running his hand through his hair. Worriedly, he diverts his gaze to the clock. 9:12. Leaping across the room, he types 'Flights to Boston' into the query box on the Santa Barbara Municipal Airport website. The last one of the day pops up to leave at 11:27. Great. He still has time.

w w w w w

Shawn is taking a light nap at the gate when he hears his name being called. He rubs his eyes and looks at a clock on the blank wall opposite him. 11:20.

"Shawn!"

The fake psychic turns his head to the direction of the voice, but instantly turns away after seeing who it belongs to.

"Shawn, I… I'm sorry."

Lassiter's panting and Shawn wants to reach out and pull the man into his arms and whisper sweet nothings into his ear, saying it's all alright, it's all fine, I'm here, take me home, please. But he can't. His arms are bound to his side, and all he can do is gape.

"Sorry about what?"

"About what I said earlier."

"Which was…?"

Lassiter blushes a deep red, and Shawn sees that he's almost about to burst. And burst he does.

"I'm sorry that I didn't say anything to answer your question and I'm sorry I pushed you away, you're all that's been on my mind for the past couple hours but I'm not sure if it's love or what and I'm not sure that I'm capable of loving again and I just wanted to make sure that you don't leave because shit, Shawn, I _need_ you here and everyone needs you, like I said earlier and I'm just too much of a _jackass_ to not have seen anything earlier and Shawn don't you dare leave and go off to Boston because Juliet needs you, Gus needs you, and _I need you, Shawn, can't you see_?"

Shawn stares at Lassiter, and then back at his shoes.

"You're just saying that," he mumbles.

He's waiting for some answer, but all he gets is rough hands pulling his face upwards and oh my _Mother Pineapple_ Lassiter's _kissing him_ and _why the CRAP _can't he freakin' _reciprocate_ and then wow _oh WOW_ he's kissing back and everything goes all melty sweet. By the time Lassiter finally pulls away, the gate clerk is clapping for the both of them.

"Still think I'm just saying it?" the head detective whispers breathlessly.

"Maybe, unless you convince me again," Shawn replies with a genuine smile. He pulls Lassiter's head back down.

"Of course not, you silly," he murmurs, breaking into tears. "Lassie, Lassie, I need you and I love you too, and I don't ever wanna leave."

And then Carlton is all gentlemanly and sweeps Shawn off his feet. Literally. The head detective has his new boyfriend in his arms and is carrying his bag all at the same time.

"Don't you _dare_ leave, Shawn," he whispers before kissing Shawn again and brushing away his tears. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

His boyfriend frowns a little bit.

"But, the thing is, it took me almost leaving the state to go to another end of the country to make you realize."

Carlton lets Shawn down, and walks through the terminal doors.

"Fine."

As soon as he's outside, he turns around to face Shawn and smirks.

By then, Shawn's finally caught on and his familiar spunkiness has finally come back. He runs through the terminal doors and jumps into Lassiter's arms and for a moment, there is nothing for him but the two of them.

"Way to ruin the moment, Lassie," he growls playfully, narrowing his eyes up at the head detective.

"It's my job," the older man grins back. "Now let's you get you back home."


End file.
